


Hunted

by twofrontteethstillcrooked



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M, Ficlet, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:30:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofrontteethstillcrooked/pseuds/twofrontteethstillcrooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What *had* he said? Loki couldn't remember now, abruptly, the din of the gorging on the terrace below bleeding away. He knew only that Sif's eyes had sharpened, her expression one of new insight and -- this was fascinating -- disappointment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunted

The wine, he would later claim, had loosened his tongue. The day's quest had been wearisome and vulgar, mostly, as these things tended to be; Loki was on a shorter leash since the unfortunate and, to repeat, completely unintentional mistake with Ótr, which he was tired of apologizing for. 

So perhaps he had been more glad of Sif's company than he would have been otherwise, since she was a counterpoint to Thor and the Warriors' blustering tomfoolery: she was a honed predator, who wanted only to return to Asgard triumphant, and keeping quiet pace with her in the forest was merely one of those things that happened. 

Later, having slain the largest boar, she had arrived at the feast amidst cheers and wild laughter, though he wouldn't go so far as to say he'd noticed per se. 

(In the firelight, when she would tip her head at some angles, certain strands of her hair were burnished with gold as her hair had been in its entirety when she was younger, and her gown was the color of spilt blood.)

Somehow they had found themselves seated next to one another, and the day's earlier silence had given way to atypical conversation between them. And wine. There had really been so very much wine.

What had he said? Something about how at another feast, long ago, she had worn a gown of a similar hue, and his eye had been drawn to it then too. Something about the surprise of finding her to be clever as well as beautiful, which he might have suspected sooner if she had not always been such a close friend of Thor's. 

Something about how he enjoyed traversing the forest by her side, her lethal focus, the narrow snaking paths of rock, root, and vine, wind whispering through leaves, the scent of snow in the air and her hip sometimes brushing against his as they maneuvered up through the warden trees. 

Something about how, over the years, he himself had not considered her beauty to be of particular rarity, nor her cleverness, nor her abilities with a sword, and she was not really of his caliber, of course, but others found her to be...exceptional, and he could not fault them. 

What _had_ he said? Loki couldn't remember now, abruptly, the din of the gorging on the terrace below bleeding away. He knew only that Sif's eyes had sharpened, her expression one of new insight and -- this was fascinating -- disappointment.

"Oh," she said, the quietness of the syllable dropping like a stone into an immobile pond, loud as a crack of fist against jaw. He wished with instant desperation she had instead lashed out, ready for battle. It was not what he would have ever expected, her looking away; she had never in a thousand years been shy. He saw her breathe and let out the breath with deliberate patience.

"It must have been difficult for you," she said in a voice that felt like a whetted blade being drawn across his throat. 

Let me explain, he thought, please. He was instantly sober again, but there was no air, no way he could speak in that pause.

"--To have realized you desired someone so far beneath you," she continued conversationally, like they were discussing weather or distant wars, "someone who could never hope to in any way be your equal or earn a worthy place beside you."

Stop, he thought, you must stop. I did not-- I wasn't supposed to-- You have always been meant for Thor-- Even I would not have--

She was holding herself tall, braced, watching him in the tarnished stillness. Not merely watching him. Sif had always been too much his equal; that was part of her -- his -- problem. Tonight wine and his own miserable indiscretion had betrayed him, and now she was seeing in his face everything he should have taken pains to conceal, Loki realized. 

Waiting for his next response, her eyes were very steady, her mouth very red. She did not look away again.

Some darkling want slithered down hot into the palms of his hands and between his shoulder blades and blotted out his last distant concern for her honor or, for that matter, his own. She was without question the most dangerous creature he had ever encountered. This was no time for flinching fear. He stepped forward without further hesitation. 

She did not retreat but moved forward as well, no kindness in her small smile at all. His gaze flicked to her ripe mouth and he considered, briefly, how much damage she could do to him with such a weapon. It would be a glorious way to die. 

The dare in her eyes was as irresistible as wickedest magic. She fisted her hand in the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him closer. She would spare him no lenience and he neither deserved nor wished for any.

Oh yes, dear Sif, he thought with relief as his mouth opened under hers, you have been exceedingly difficult indeed. 

 

. . . . . 

_I never knew any more beautiful than you: I have hunted you under my thoughts_   
_\-- from "The Great Hunt," Carl Sandberg_


End file.
